


Cutting it Close

by dodecahedrons



Category: DMMd, DRAMAtical Murder, Political - Fandom, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: M/M, koujaku/aoba was a past relationship but it was worth noting honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1953654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodecahedrons/pseuds/dodecahedrons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitt Romney, now done with campaigning for the 2012 Presidential election, takes a small vacation away from friends, family, and America in general to spend a while in Midorijima, an Island city he was mistakenly led to believe was paradise surrounded by water. But upon needing a haircut only two weeks into his get-away, Mitt finds himself at war with his emotions as his barber is a rather attractive young man. Add that on to the conspiracy with him being a foreign politician setting foot into a high-security island like Midorijima, and you have a tale of action, adventure, and romance no politician would ever dream of partaking in</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The campaigning period was done, and one certain politician had lost the race. It had been a close call, but in the end, Obama won again. To let off some steam and relax from all the campaigning work, our politician was on his way to an island he'd been told was a sort of "resort-esque city".

Honestly, thought? He wouldn't go so far as to call it that.

Mitt Romney had been in Midorijima for about two weeks now, and in that time period he had concluded that the locals of the island city were definately weirder than Americans. They were all obsessed with these things called Rhyme and Rib, and consequently there were gangs with weird symbols on every street corner. Hell, he even got jumped one time. There goes the bulk of his remaining wealth he'd been carrying on him for some odd reason.

The locals also dressed much weirder than Americans. In America, you can expect to see people in tanktops and booty shorts - the men and women. But on Midorijima, everyone was much more expressive and colorful, like that one nice young man who helps run that pawn shop down the road from Mitt's hotel. That marshmallow jacket definately hid his slim figure, which was odd. You'd think someone with such a nice body would like to show the world.  
One more reason Midorijima was different than America.

Regardless, it was enjoyable. The drastic change in atmosphere had definately come as a surprise to the republican, but it was pleasing after the first day or two. He did notice, however, he was starting to become more and more exhausted from the heat. Perhaps, he thought, it was time he check the local listings to find a good barber shop (or whatever they called them on this island.)

Sipping his tea in his hotel room and leaning back on the chair accompanied with the desk given to him by the hotel, presumably for a laptop or workspace of sorts, his soft eyes scanned over his tablet as he read the local hair cuttery ads. This was proving to be a much more daunting task than he had wished for, however, what with every listing either located across the city or in that confusing area of the island called Platinum Jail that they wouldn't even let a high class politician like himself into. And the places that _were_ local had such low ratings he didn't believe the people running the place could even cut paper correctly.

Just as the grey-haired American was just about to give up hope and try again tomorrow, and just as he was standing to go to the mini island counter to pour himself another cup of tea, he happened to glance out the window.

Lo and behold, a young man was standing in the street, cutting a young woman's hair.

Perfect. Hopefully this man wasn't only skilled in cutting and styling women's hair. Hopefully he wasn't one of the people who had gotten a half star rating.

With an oddly excited skip in his usually stone cold step, and a slight shine in his eye, Mitt Romney slid his shoes on and grab the Yen equivelant of a twenty from his wallet before exiting his hotel room.

 

* * *

 

 

The crowd around the young man was larger than he had seen from his limited view high above the ground, he concluded as he neared the corner the hair cutting was taking place on. Mostly women, but some men, including himself, had crowded around the apparently skilled barber as he cut small chunks from a blonde's head. A few nearby women in tanktops squealed as the man said something he couldn't quite make out. Something about the girls, though, he concluded.

Romney felt his throat tighten as the man glanced up at him, a smile plastered on his face. Mitt felt as if the barber's gaze pierced through his soul in an almost endearing way. No... No what was he thinking. He was a man, as was Mitt himself. That truly couldn't be what was happening. He was a dashing young man, yes, but---

Before his train of thought could wander off on its own disturbed trail, however, the man's voice cut his internal fretting short.

"Ah, it seems we have a new client," he began, his silky voice flowing through the politician's ears, making his heart speed up just a tad. _No, Mitt_ , he thought. _Keep your cool. You're just nervous._ "What are you here for, Sir? Enjoying the show? Or would you like to come forward and have a trim as well?"

Romney cleared his throat, if only to give him a second more to gather his thoughts. "I was wondering," he began, a voice crack breaking the professional air around him, causing him to pale a he continued to speak, "If you could maybe just... sort of take a bit off the top?"

"Sure thing!" the man replied, his grin widening just a tad at what Mitt suspected to be his now nervous appearance and air about him. "That's probably the easiest request I've gotten in a while," he concluded, sending a teasing glance at a woman to his side, who smirked and slapped the man's arm, muttering an "oh you", though it couldn't be heard in the crowd's mass sqeal of what romney made out to be something along the lines of "Koujaku you jerk", though it wasn't at all in a horrified tone.

Oh.

So his name was Koujaku, was it?

"So, are you going to come over?" the man - now known to be Koujaku - asked, motioning to the chair the previous client had gotten up from in the time between the barber's joke and the crowd's hysterics. With a somewhat hesitant step, Romney nodded, slowly stepping through the crowd of people that seemed to part like the Red Sea as he walked toward the chair.

As he walked, and as the crowd parted, he slowly saw more and more of the man. He had blueish-black hair, a few scars on his otherwise perfect face, and a traditional Japanese kimono. That was all he could catch, however, as he took the few steps to the chair directly infront of the man.

He turned around and sat, the chair creaking beneath his weight, which was admittedly more than most if not all of the people surrounding both him and the black haired man. He heard him shifting through his supplies, and before Mitt got the chance to talk, he was already asking questions.

"So, how much off the top do you think you want?" he began, and Mitt swore he could hear the silent test-snip of a pair of scissors behind him.

"Before I um, answer that, I'd like to know how much this is going to cost?" he responded, hesitation in his voice. This, somehow, caused the crowd to erupt into laughter. Even Koujaku himself gave a few quiet chuckles.

"Its free, ya dipshit!" called a slightly slurred voice from the back of the crowd.

I guess that's one way this island was actually _similar_ to America, his train of thought from the previous days continued. Was it a world-wide phenomenon to drink before five o'clock?

Koujaku tutted, pointing at the somewhat tipsy girl. "Now, be nice. We've made it clear this is his first time using my services."

Mitt cleared his throat, craning his neck to glance up at the man, hoping the blush of embarrasment on his cheeks wasn't noticable in the blaring sun. "In that case, as much as you deem necessary. You are the... professional?" he half-stated, half inquried. This time, Koujaku himself gave a hearty laugh.

"I wouldn't quite call myself a professional," he began to say as his hands - and pair of scissors in tow - began to fy around his head in a steady, almost beautiful pattern. He didn't focus on anything else the man said as he got his hair cut, though. All he could think about was one thing, and that thing was something that struck fear into his core.

Romney was attracted to the hair dresser. It was love at first sight.

But it was so wrong. So wrong... yet he didn't turn away.

He let his worries subside to a somewhat peaceful silence, however, and drowned his recurring worries with the sounds of hair being cut.

He'd deal with those worries later.

 


	2. Chapter 2

His hair had been cut- very nicely, by the way- and the day had gone on relatively normally.

Except it hadn't.

He still had the voice of the hairdresser echoing in the back of his mind as he ate his meals, as he just absently sat around, and, regretably, even as he showered. He felt horrible admitting his own reaction to the man's voice reverberating through his mind as he stood in the nude. It felt so wrong, and yet it felt so right.

And he felt so dirty even thinking that to himself.

At this point, it wasn't even the fact that he had these urges to act upon his love for another man, or that the man was a third his age, no. It was the fact he was having these urges while he had a beautiful wife and somewhat decent children back home in America. If he acted on his love for Koujaku, it'd be breaking his two big no's! His rules against cheating, and his rules against gayness.

But hey, it's not like anyone he knew would be around to see it... would they?

 _No mitt_ , he thought, _Don't give in to these thoughts. Satan is coming at you and he's coming at you hard. You're a good man, Mitt. Don't do this to yourself_.

As these thoughts continued, he decided to slip under his covers and shut the lights out. He figured a good night's rest would cleanse his mind. He'd wake up a new man, who simply went to get a new haircut.

And with that, he shut his eyes, and began to sleep peacefully.

 

* * *

 

 

The thoughts haden't left, and neither had the urges. And yes, he had to take another shower with them both tacked onto the front of his train of thought. That shower was another rather awkward one.

He figured he'd go out for a walk today. And hey, who knows, maybe it's possible he'd run into the man again. Maybe.

Possibly.

It's not as if he had taken the route toward where he was yesterday or anything.

But to the politician's dismay, the man wasn't there. He didn't recognise a soul on the street, save for the man with the marshmallow jacket and unnatural hair color. Odd, the man seemed to actually be working right outside the pawn shop this young man helped run.

He figured hey, maybe these two knew eachother, or at least the bluenette had known enough _of_ the man to know where he would be. He  _did_  cut hair right outside of his pawn shop yesterday.

And he was conveniently outside. So, why not?

With a confident gait, Mitt made his way over to the bluenette, a friendly grin on his face. "Ah, would you happen to know anything about the hair dresser who happened to be working outside of your shop yesterday?"

The man looked up from what he was doing, which was sweeping the sidewalk, a displeased expression on his face. This threw the man back, and he was about to retract his question, but the bluenette began to speak. "Oh, Koujaku? Yeah. I know about him. A lot about him. He's my _ex_."

Oh. So he _did_ swing that way. Mitt felt an odd sense of relief wash over him. The man conitnued.

"I don't know what you're asking about him for, but I'll assume you need to use his services. He works around here on weekends, and on the weekdays he generally just wanders around. I'm sure you'll find him eventually."

Mitt stared at the man. "...Do you happen to have a name?"

"Aoba. Not that it's gonna benefit you. I don't really feel like talking about Koujaku much more right now, and I'm working my shift, so unless you have any item-related questions, I kindly ask you to be on your way."

Well. That was one of the more friendlier ways of saying "I don't want to talk to you" Mitt had ever heard.

So... the man did say he wanders around on week days.... and it _was_ a Monday. There was no point in wandering, really, he figured.

 _I guess I'll go get some breakfast and see if I can find him after that_... he thought as he went on his merry way down the street, per the man - now known as Aoba's - request.


	3. Chapter 3

After a short walk around the bend of the block, Mitt had found, to his surprise, a quaint, little Denny's, and had situated himself in a booth near the window facing the street. He was munching on his crispy bacon, eggs sunny-side-up, and tea when he saw a crowd of people walking down the otherwise silent street.

And his heart sped up.

There the man was. The hair dresser the ex-presidential candidate had fallen for so much in such a short window of time. He was _right there_. The only things between he and Koujaku were the Denny's window and the decently sized crowd.

And to both his pleasure and his dismay, Koujaku came toward the Denny's.

_Followed by the massive orb of pedestrians._

He knew that the Denny's would be flooded, and he'd probably end up having to share a table with someone. The restaurant was small, with about ten tables that could seat four people a piece, three tables against the windows that could sit two a piece, and six bar stools against the counter, the dennys could comfortably sit fifty-one people besides himself. Just from a quick glance, he could tell the crowd would fill the place to the brim. Of course, five of the ten four-seater tables were booths, so more than four people could fit at them.

But that still meant he'd get company - wanted or not - at his two-seater table, more than likely.

He had about a one-in-sixty chance to get seated with Koujaku, so he silently sat, hoping odds played in his favor.

When he heard the bell on the door of the restaurant ding, and he heard mixed conversations flood the small diner's entire interior, his heart sped up.

_No Mitt. If a lovely young lady sits across from you, it'd be better.You are a Mormon. You cannot love this man. He is one third your age and the same gender. This is immoral. If you act on this, you're going to go to hell._

For once, Mitt willingly tuned out his conscience. Immoral or not, he needed to pursue this. What was a vacation without a little adventure, right?

Slowly the restaurant filled. Women at many booths, men - presumably following Koujaku for the same reason as Mitt - at bar stools....

And no one in the empty seat infront of him.

Until...

He shut his eyes. The chair infront of him made a slight creaking noise, and he opened his eyes to see none other than...

The slightly tipsy woman from the day before. He sighed internally, hoping the disappointment wasn't evident on his face. His conscience had won out, sadly, and for once, it wasn't to his benefit. Regardless, it'd be rude to not speak to the woman, he figured. Before the politician could get a single word out, however, she picked up the man's fork and pointed it at him, bits of egg dropping onto the space on the table between Mitt and the plate.

"What were you doing with our Koujaku yesterday, Mister?" she inquired in a rather hostile tone, much, _much_ different than her slurred comment among the crowd from the previous day. When Mitt didn't reply immediately, however, the woman gave a slight huff and eased the fork closer. "Are you gonna answer the damn question or not?"

Taken aback by her foul language and signs of impending violent acts with silverwear, he put his hands up in a sort of surrender. "I was only getting a haircut, honest!" he blurted out. She dropped the fork, crossing her arms against her chest and leaning back agains the back of the chair, her brown curls falling into her similarly light-browned face.

"A likely story, American. You people come here for two reaons. To nerd out on us because you happened to catch an episode of Pokemon on the trip here and expect us all to be like that, or to get an Asian date of your very own. Never, not once, have I heard of anyone - let alone a man - come to any part of Asia and expect any of us to believe that he blushed and smiled during a haircut _just because_ he was getting a haircut. Now spill. What. Do you want. With Koujaku."

"Honest to God, I was only getting a--" Mitt began to reply once again, but he was taken aback when a waitress, who happened to be passing by, dropped her clipboard full of orders and stared at him.

"I was _wondering_ why you seemed so familiar," she began, her voice high-pitch and unpleasing to the ears. "You're Mitt Romney, arent you? That American politician?"

  
Mitt gave a smug grin, glancing at the woman. "Well, yes. I'm surprised you're actually asking, I thought my face was more known. I guess not, since this is Japan, though."

The woman across from Mitt groaned. "Oh get over yourself. You _LOST_ the election. You shouldn't be sitting here bragging right now. The only reason any of us recognise you is because of the laws and memes."

"Laws...?" Mitt deadpanned, glancing back across from him. He went to look at the waitress for an explanation, but as he did, he felt all color drain from his face.

"Hello? I think we're going to need some assistance down at the Denny's near Junk Shop Heibon. We have the foreign politicain Mitt Romney on the premisise."


	4. Chapter 4

Minutes had passed, and Mitt had been forced to stay in his seat and remain silent by many of Koujaku's followers. He didn't understand what was going on. Why did he have a mob of angry people holding him against the window of a Dennys, and why did he have a woman calling for some "assistance"? Why did his being a foreign politican play into anything?

This island was becoming less and less of a "resorte-esque" place by the minute.

His mind continued to replay those few questions and thoughts over and over, until they were cut short by the sound of glass shattering to his left and right. And all he could think in that moment was a word he never thought as a Mormon republican he'd think. (Then again, this entire trip was proving he wasn't exactly a great Mormon or Republican)

 _Fuck_.

Immediately, the crowd around him parted like the Red Sea - similar to the day before, only this time it wasn't he himself walking through the now cleared aisle.

No, it was several men in bulletproof vests and black, reflective sunglasses, some carrying guns and others carrying blunt force weapons.

Before Mitt could ask what in God's name was going on, however, he was gripped up by his arms and quite literally thrown through the window behind him.

And after that, everything went black.

* * *

He didn't know how much time had passed between then and when he'd woken up. All he knew is, when he woke up, he was in a damp, dark cell. The kind they steriotype prisons as being in TV shows, only worse. Much worse. He was in pain, the pain a type of stinging, all over his body.

And he couldn't move.

No, he was restrained. Cuffs held his legs to the ground and his wrists to the wall. The entire situation with his position was uncomfortable and seemed rather, erm, _sexual_. In a twisted way, of course.

And, again, before his train of thought could advance too much, a door opened.

"So you're awake, are you?" a deep voice almost growled from the shadow that engulfed the doorway. Too terrified to talk, Mitt just stared ahead. The being took notice. "Aren't you going to respond to me?"

Mitt gave in.

"Do I look like I could possibly be asleep?" he responded, his voice not at all strong. In fact, it waivered much more than it did in any other situation. He wasn't sure if it was the pain or the fear.

It was probably both.

"Don't get smart with me. You're under my control now, and your fate is held against my mercy. Say the wrong thing the wrong way, and I could have one of my guards blow your head off before you can even fathom the pain. Do you understand?"

With that, Mitt just stared ahead, processing his circumstances before glancing up toward the shadows. "Y-Yes, Sir!"

"Alright, good. Now that we have an agreement..." the man advanced slowly inton the cell, his face still cast in shadow, his neck luminated by the small light coming from a window close to the ceiling. He took one more step, and his face shown clearly in the light.

"My name is Toue. And my, my, do we have some negotiating to do."


	5. Chapter 5

He woke up groggily, having slept on merely the cold, damp floor of the cell for the third night in a row. Or was it the fourth? He didn't know. All he knew is his sleeping conditions were the least of his worries in his current situation. Sure, it was uncomfortable as all hell, but the circumstance surrounding his initial arrest was far more drastic.

He didn't know the full story, only catching bits and pieces of the guards' chattering outside his cell or as they escorted him from interrogation to interrogation, but apparently the man who he saw upon his initial arrest - Toue, was it? - was the head of some sort of worldwide project where he brainwashed foreign politicians who came to the island - with or without proper permission, which you apparently needed to legally come here (not that the border police told him this) - to spread his propoganda. And, of course, Mitt tried to get himself out of it by defending that he wasn't actually the president of the United States, but Toue knew this already, and continued regardless of this knowledge. Once a politician, always a politician, he guessed.

He vaguely rememebered Toue saying something about how he - Mitt - was still influental in the States (Was he? He himself didn't know) and how he could at least bend the Republican party to his ways. "Republicans," he remembered him saying, "They'll listen to anything their representatives and political standees say, so long as you mention Jesus and diss the gays."

The propoganda Toue was trying to sell, however, was classified, only fed to him in unspecific strings of information. Subliminal messaging, one could almost describe it as. He felt a tinge of worry as the idea of world domination seemed prominent in what he understood of the plan, though he wasn't sure he was consciously catching it right.

He felt as if no one in this facility, besides Toue himself, was sure of what they were saying and teaching, though. Everyone who interrogated and force-fed him Toue's regimine for foreign politicians seemed to be completely on script, and not one easily memorized or quoted. Everyone was so monotone, so much more so than he was used to prison guards being. Were they trying to remember their lines? Was the regimine that hard to explain? Had they never done this to another politician?

It could always be an act, a very clever one set up by Toue to discourage prisoners from asking questions, but who could say for sure. Well, Toue could, but it's not like he would.

All he knew is, as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his oddly uncuffed hands, the window in the door of the cell slid open, and one of those monotone voices spoke.

"Today is a visitation day," the voice spoke blandly. "And you have a visitor, surprisingly. You will have five minutes with him. A vert monitored five minues."

Mitt blinked. A visitor? He didn't know anyone on this island, per se. Only that drunk woman whos name he never got and...

His heart skipped a beat.

No, no it couldn't be him. Why would he take time out of his day to visit some man whos hair he cut once? It was a weekday, wasn't it? Wouldn't he be working about now? Well, it was the crack of dawn, so probably not. But. He'd be getting ready to do his daily weekday round of cutting peoples hair outside of... whatever the bluenettes name was's shop.

The guard demanded him to stand in a much more aggressive voice than he was used to, briefly interrupting his thoughts long enough to get him to stand.

He found his train of thought again once he stood. He shouldn't get his hopes up, he figured as he walked to the door. As of on cue with his steps, the door slid open, and Mitt held his wrists out, hands limp and palms facing down. The cuffs wrapped around his wrists, and a lead was hooked to the center to keep him an appropriate distance from the guard.

He'd learned the hard way what would happen if the lead went too limp, obviously meaning you were too close to the guard. He still had welts and bruises that were healing from that first day...

As they began to walk down the hall - one he didn't recognize - he decided to block out all thoughts of Koujaku being in the room he was being lead to. It was unlikely. It was impossible. Koujaku didn't even know his name, did he? It didn't matter.

He had to quiet his thoughts. He had to stay silent.

He had to focus on putting one foot infront of the other, and only that, as they neared the elevator and, soon, the visitation room.

* * *

He was ushered into the visitation room rather roughly by the guard and made to sit down at a cheap, white table. The chair was far from comfortable, but was definately better than the cell. And no one sat across from him yet. Was this just a trick to get him into another session? He wasn't supposed to have any today, at least not until much later in the morning or, at latest, noon.

The guard left for a moment, the door shutting almost immediately. He glanced to his left, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on, but only finding that the windows were blacked out from the inside, presumably because there would be guards watching and listening to him and his visitor from the other side. The walls were obviously soundproofed as well. He heard nothing, and they could probably hear nothing of whats going on in the room unless they'd taken the procaution to install hidden microphones all over it. He knew this, because he was warned that every room had audio survalience, if not both audio and video, upon his first meeting with Toue.

While his thoughts began to trail off, and his gaze turned to the blank wall across from him, the door opened again, and this time, his visitor was shoved in. He took a deep breath, refusing to look at the visitor until he came in his line of sight. As if it'd help anything, he began to almost will it to be Koujaku.

He could feel how angry God was with him.

As his mental chant of _please be Koujaku_ continued, the man finally came into eyeshot.

To his complete and utter dismay, it wasn't Koujaku. Yet again, he'd been wrong. God was really having his way, wasn't he?

No, his visitor was the bluenette from the day he got arrested. The bluenette who was Koujaku's ex.

"So. You're _the_ Mitt Romney, are you?" the blue man chuckled. Mitt gave a silent nod, and, in turn, the blue man let out a loud laugh. "I can't believe this. You should have read up on this place before you came here. How could you have been so stupid, coming to this island of all places in the world?"

"I... I didn't know this island was like this," the grey haired man mumbled, having since turned his gaze to the plain white table infront of him, refusing to make eye contact with the man. "I'd read online that it was lovely."

"Thats because everyone who comes here is mandated to write positively about the place!" he snapped. "Do you think anyone - tourist or resident - would be allowed to give this place bad ratings and get away with it? Toue can track them down and have them eliminated without a trace within hours. Days, if you're lucky."

Mitt blinked. Toue was more sinister than he thought.

The bluenette continued.

"I know, I know you went to the Denny's to look for Koujaku, and I know I should have warned you that a lot of the people on the island are on the look out for you. I just didn't believe it was you, when we met on the corner," he mumbled. "You were asking about Koujaku, and somthing in me snapped and didn't let me warn you. It's partially my fault you're in here."

"Are you that jealous?" Mitt asked softly without thinking. He could almost feel the man's expression change.

"He up and left me for some guy with dreadlocks! Of course I'm angry. I mean, it didn't work out between them, so he's been single for a while. I haven't even tried to get back with him, because its so goddamn painful to see him or hear about him or even think about him--"

Mitt felt a twinge of guilt grow in the pit of his stomach.

The man still continued.

"But. But that's why I'm here. I wronged you, and I need to make up for it. The next visitation day is in nine days. If you can stick it out until then, he'll be coming. You need to be ready, okay?"

There was a moment of silence. A very, very long one. But Mitt finally responded.

"Okay."

After another silent moment, he finally asked something he'd been meaning to since the visit began.

"...May I get your name again?"

"Aoba. Aoba Ser--" the blue man began, but at that very moment the door opened, and the same guard from before came in.

"Seragaki. Your five minutes are over. I'll be escorting you back to the front desk."

The blue man - known as Aoba gain - nodded and rose to his feet, glancing at Mitt sympathetically before following the guard. They left the room, and the door slammed shut again, leaving Mitt alone to his thoughts.

 _Nine days..._ he mused. _I can do it. I can wait the nine days._


	6. Chapter 6

Those nine days dragged on for what seemed much, much longer than nine days. They were filled with the usual lecturing, the usual subliminal messaging, the usual guards and their monotone demeanors and voices. It was all so routine anymore, that Mitt was growing forgetful of what life on the outside was like.

By the third day, he'd started to forget what he was waiting on, as his daily regimine began to include rigirous exercise and classes with odd cirriculums, almost like extra classes some high schools would offer.

By the fifth day, he'd only remember who was coming on occasion, usually when he was left to his own devices. He'd muse over what he'd been told by Aoba - what he could remember, that is. His classes were taking up a lot of his memory, and they were pushing short-term memories out of the way. He was... excited to have a visitor scheduled to come. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to see Koujaku.

The butterflies in his stomach that seemed to flock in at the thought of him had long since died.

By the eighth day, he almost didn't know if he wanted to see _anyone_. His mind was filled with exercise routines and class material, and he thought for sure that having a visitor would disturb his train of thought. Casual conversation would distract him.

By the ninth day - the current day - he'd forgotten he even had a visitor coming. The regimine was working, and destroying any memory he had regarding people, places, and things on the outside. He was overwhelmed with meaningless work that he thought to be worth something. Overwhelmed with working on his muscles for what he thought was just for health.

He was doing just that when the door opened and a guard appeared.

"Today is a visitation day," said a voice he recognized. The voice was somewhat less monotone, but nowhere near casual or friendly. This was a guard Mitt recognized. This was his morning guard, the one who escorted him to his morning classes, Advanced Geometrics and Basic Architecture.

He finished his round of twenty-five pushups and stood, turning to the guard.

"I have a visitor?" he asked, genuinely curious. His mind flickered over vague memories of being told about this, but he could've sworn that those were just from dreams.

"Yes," the guard responded, disproving the dream theory.

Per the routine, Mitt made no argument. He simply walked forward and held his hands out to be cuffed. But this time, the cuffs didnt come.

"The visitor is here to cut your hair," he said slowly, eyeballing the politician's already short hair. "We're letting you into the courtyard for half an hour. But keep in mind you will be under heavy survailance. If you try any funny business, you will not like the consequences. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Sir!" he responded, saluting as he did so. After a moment, however, his posture slackened, and he looked at the guard with a face of confusion. "But... why aren't you going to secure my wrists on the way to the courtyard?"

"There's no need. The entryway to the courtyard is just out here," the guard nodded. He backed out of the doorway and stepped to the side. After muttering a phrase he couldn't quite hear into a wall of seemingly nothing, a keypad popped out of a well-hidden panel. He quickly punched in a code - one that ended with _32_ and seemed to be seven digits long - and one of the walls pulled outward and split in half, revealing a lush, green courtyard.

"Wow..." Mitt whispered, stepping out of his cell cautiously. When he was met with no negative reaction, he continued his careful tread across the hall and out the surprisingly well-made door.

"Your thirty minutes begin as soon as your visitor enters. Again, you're under audio and visual surveilance. Try anything and you will most certainly be sorry," the guard seemed to recite. Before Mitt could even conjure up a response, the panels rejoined and shut, leaving a seamless wall for him to stare at.

He turned, after a moment of mesmerized shock, and stared at the field ahead of him. It wasn't as small as he expected, no. It had to be at least one hundred feet each way. It was full of georgous scenery. Beautiful cherry trees across the field, a rock garden nearing the center. Benches near a small pond. Tiny rolling hills all about. It was unlike any other place he'd seen before, it was near indescribable.

He continued to stare in a daze from the spot he was left at for minutes, until he heard another door open to his far left. Within moments of the sound, grass rustled to his side. But he didn't move. He was still staring ahead, almost hypnotized.

His almost trance-like state was broken when his visitor gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched, and slowly turned to meet eyes with...

"Ko... K-Kou..."

He met with piercing red eyes, familiar enough to him that it broke through the solid coating of ignorance the past week and a half had conditioned him with. It broke through whatever stone had surrounded his heart, and the butterflies were slowly returning.

"I'm here," the man responded obviously, a smile gracing his features, making his ruby-red eyes smile. Mitt's heart skipped a beat as he stared into those eyes. He could almost get as lost in them as he did the scenery.

If it weren't for Koujaku looking away.

He pointed ahead, toward one of the benches toward the pond. "Over there seems a nice spot, don't you think?"

"For what?" Mitt asked, obliviously, before something inside him kicked his brain hard enough to remind him what the guard said mere minutes before. "O-Oh right! Oh right, you're cutting my hair. But... didnt we just do th-"

He was silenced by the hand not on his shoulder, the hand that had pointed toward the bench. Koujaku leaned in close enough to whisper, but remained at a distance that the guards who were watching wouldn't be suspicious of.

"Shh, it's alright," he said softly. "I have touch-ups to do."

His words said casual business, but his eyes said that something serious was about to happen.

Romney then nodded, understanding at least vaguely. "Alright. Lead the way."

So Koujaku did. He even took Romney's hand, to throw off the guards who were maybe suspicious. "They're just a couple," they'd probably assume. "No big deal."

Of course, Mitt knew it was all a rouse. It still made him flustered. He was holding his hand!! _His_ hand.

Within a minute, they arrived at the bench. Koujaku motioned for the politician to sit on the bench, to which he complied, missing the warmth their hands created as soon as they untangled their fingers. He had no sooner gotten seated before Koujaku wrapped a large plastic bag around his shoulders - presumably to catch little hairs that would otherwise cling to his nice, recently washed jail uniform.

In silence, Koujaku began to snip particular little hairs off. Romney sat, staring at his warbly reflection as best as he could with his head set forward in the water mere feet from him. Koujaku was really here. Aoba was right.

But why would he come for just a haircut?

"I haven't seen Aoba ever since he came to tell you about my planned visit," Koujaku said softly as he continued to make tiny snips. At this point, Mitt was unsure if his scissors were even still connecting with his hair, or if he was doing this for show. He didn't feel anything....

"You haven't?" Mitt asked in a similar pitch.

"No... this passed weekend, he wasn't sweeping outside of the shop, or working there at all. Haga-san says he hasn't heard from Aoba in days."

Mitt swallowed hard. Did something Aoba say in his visit get him arrested... or worse?

Koujaku continued.

"I sure hope he's okay. He hasn't been doing so well lately..."

The silence picked up again, now almost a heavy blanket over Mitt. Had Aoba -a man he hardly knew -sacrificed his free will or even his life to forewarn him of Koujaku's visit? What was so important that he had to be notified ahead of time?

'You need to be ready, okay?'

Ready for what, he wondered to himself. What could that possibly mean? Was something going to happen, or was he reading too far into it.

Absently, Mitt noticed the snipping of scissors had stopped. He glanced up at Koujaku, whos eyes were darting around cautiously as he reached into his hair cuttery bag.

"As soon as I count to three," he leaned into Mitt's ear to say as quietly as possible (Which, in turn, sent chills up the man's spine), "I need you to hold your breath."

"W-why?" Mitt asked, heart racing, both from being flustered and from sudden anxiety.

"Just trust me," he said through clenched teeth, standing up abruptly.

"One..." he whispered, pulling out a small, metal box, which Mitt saw barely out of the corner of his eye.

"Two..." he continued, pressing several buttons on the device. As soon as these buttons were pressed, red lights began to flash, and over the tinted windows and the entire perimiter of the walls he saw heavy duty steel walls fall, landing with a dull thud.

"Three."

Before Mitt had time to take in what was going on, he was shoved into the pond infront of him, barely having time to catch his breath as he fell head first.

He was sinking. Sinking, sinking... was there something in the trash bag? There had to be.

He continued to sink, barely feeling as the water was disrupted above him, barely noticing the hand grabbing onto his and pulling him down even faster than the heaviness around his neck.

The state of shock and confusion he was in was much more sensationally numbing than the cold water surrounding him.


	7. Chapter 7

Mitt was pulled downward for what felt like ages, his ability to hold his breath all the while slowly slipping from him. He didn't know what was happening, and the anxiety added to the already terrifying situation wasn't making it any easier for him to keep his cool enough to not breathe in water in a hyperventilative reflex.

He didn't know how deep this pond was-- was it even considered a pond anymore if it was this deep? -- but he knew he was bordering on the edge of unconsciousness. He needed air. No, he didn't just need it, he craved it. His lungs were burning. He needed oxygen, or he was gonna pass out. He was gonna pass out, and then he was going to--

They hit some sort of ground. They hit the ground and Mitt was pulled forward. He was pulled forward and suddenly he wasn't surrounded with water. Suddenly he could breathe. Suddenly his lungs didn't feel like disinflated water balloons.

As the politician collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath like a fish in a completely opposite situation, the hairdresser simply took a few deep breaths and straightened himself. Water passed over the ground of the passageway in waves, surrounding Mitt up to his thighs at the highest tide. The water made a few oscillations back and forth before Koujaku hit something on the wall, and a camouflaged door slid across the entrance, leaving just a few inches of water for them to slosh through.

"You alright there?" Koujaku asked, turning to where he could still hear labored breaths. From the dim light emanating from emergency lights along the passageway, he could see the drenched politician still in the same position as before, breathing still as forced. The man raised a hand in response after a moment, though.

"Yeah.... Yeah I'm fine...." he said laboriously, beginning to work on sitting on his heels. "Uh... If you, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly is going on?" He paused to take another deep breath. "And... Where are we?"

Mitt glanced up a the face of the younger man, which, upon his questions, turned immediately stone cold. He was irresponsive, which lead the politician to think the worst.

_Did he bring me down here to kill me? Is this all an elaborate trick to turn me back in to the prison after what I think is going to be my ticket to freedom? Is there a firing squad down here, hidden in the walls somewhere? It is pretty dark. Is that Toue guy here? Oh man, oh man this isn't good, is it?_ was all the man could think in the silent moments that followed.

Once he'd caught his breath, however, he stood. And when he stood, Koujaku motioned for him to begin walking, starting to head on himself. Mitt, phased by the sudden expectation for him to start walking after he'd just caught his breath, stood in shock for mere seconds before sprinting to catch up, the bottoms of his already soaked sweatpants sloshing against his legs and splashing against the water.

They walked in silence for a while, the passage still only barely lit by emergency lights all the while, before Koujaku cleared his throat. This caught Mitt's attention, and he glanced over.

"What's going on right now, since you obviously haven't been filled in, is a governmental conspiracy between Midorijima and the United States. Your crossing the border without complete permission from Toue himself has caused such a controversy that the island is now on high security lockdown. Everyone has to ask for permission before even leaving their house to buy bread," he said, his tone carrying signs of anger, though otherwise monotone. "You have singlehandedly caused a police state to emerge in parts of the island that were the complete polar opposite weeks ago. I can't say I'm happy, but I can say I applaud you for being the first man to single handedly cause the police force to actually be more than high-payed statues for once."

The silence soon engulfed them once again, though this time it felt more like a suffocating blanket than anything else. What was he supposed to say? 'Sorry for causing a police state, I'll be more careful next time'? That's not how this was going to work. He had to do something to fix this. This was his fault.

Rather than starting to egg on himself for causing all of this, however, he decided to try to make casual conversation out of the otherwise load-bearing topic.

"So uh, how has this affected your hair cutting business?" he asked, his voice breaking in at least one place. Koujaku cocked an eyebrow as he let himself flick his eyes over to look at the man.

"I have police following me everywhere. I've been given a pass to work on my usual days, since I'm doing a public service, but my actual jobs have been hindered. I have relatively no income at the time being," his voice remained the same, though a sigh laced it toward the end of the statement. Mitt felt his heart stop.

"Oh. Well, do you have enough saved to last for at least a little while?" he hesitantly asked, fearing what the answer would be, unconsciously holding his breath.

"I have enough to last me a few weeks, maybe a month or two at the most. Hopefully this'll all be over by then. If not, I'm screwed."

Mitt only let out his breath somewhat, but he nearly choked on what was left when Koujaku stopped and turned to him.

"I don't think you're quite picking up on how severe this is, Romney," he muttered, voice more sad now than it was mere moments ago. "I haven't seen Aoba, that much you know, but thats because he decided to come here and be my messanger to warn you about my oncoming visit. My visit to break you out of this hellhole of a prison. He's been hauled off to some other high security facility, and now I'm going to have to keep you hidden. I might end up where he is, Romney. Do you understand? No one ever leaves that facility. He fucking sacrificed his freedom to bail out a prisoner of conspiracy from the second most high security facility on the fucking island. I know he's my ex. I know I shouldn't care about him. But what he's going through is what anyone on this island could be going through for such minor offenses as forgetting to ask permission to go across the hall in their apartment complex. I... I can't..."

He trailed off.

Mitt blinked. He was at a loss for words. What words could convey how sorry he was about all this? What words could convince this obviously troubled man standing next to him that he really didn't intend for Aoba to get locked up, and that he didn't intend for Midorijima to be sent into a setting only seen in dystopian thrillers. What could he possibly do?

Koujaku took a breath.

"I don't know what business you had planned on this island, but now, you're going to have to help me fix this. I don't know what it's going to take. It might not be possible. But you are going to fucking help me, or I will turn myself in just to get you executed for not fighting against my attempt to break you out. Do you understand?"

Silence surrounded them, save for the dripping of pipes that had begun to line the walls yards ago.

Koujaku rushed forward and knocked the politician into the wall, pinning him there with his arm and edging his face close to his. Mitt glanced into his red eyes. They showed a mix of sadness and rage.

"Do you _fucking understand_ , Mitt Romney?" he spat, spittle getting into the politicians eye and landing elsewhere otherwise.

"I. I understand," he responded weakly, eyes widening in shock. Koujaku let his arm down, freeing Mitt from the threatening restraint he'd had him in moments ago. The hairdresser took a few deep breaths to steel himself, and then wordlessly continued to walk foward.

Mitt cautiously trailed a few feet behind, this time in silence. He figured Koujaku needed some time to be quiet after that outburst.

* * *

The passage ended up being about five miles long. By the end of the second mile, there was a step-up, and they could finally step out of the water. Mitt knew his feet would be chafed as anything when they dried from how soaked his socks were inside of the sneakers issued to him by the prison. He was completely jealous of Koujaku's sandals, though he didn't feel now was the best time to make that comment. It had been a few hours, and Koujaku still seemed to be fuming.

By the time they reached the end of the tunnel, Koujaku and Mitt had ended up side by side once again, albeit this time there was much more of a distance between them. Once they reached the opening, however, Koujaku held his arm out and climbed up the ladder to reach the outside world once again. He poked his head out of the manhole, and then motioned for Mitt to climb the ladder below him.

This was breaking at least three safety rules, but he guessed it didn't matter at this point. They were already traversing the underground plumbing and possibly sewage lines to lay low. What else could be as dangerous as standing a tunnle away from poop water?

Koujaku pushed the manhole cover completely off and scurried up, motioning for Mitt to do the same. It took a second, but he climbed the ladder nearly as quick as Koujaku had, all while being three times his age. Koujaku silently replaced the manhole cover and, after a quick, cautious glance around the dark street they surfaced on, grabbed Mitt's hand.

Just like in the pond, Koujaku started pulling Mitt somewhere at a fast pace, and Mitt could only begin to guess what was going on.


	8. Chapter 8

Cramming two rather well-built men inconspiciously between two rectangular bushes on a lit street was much, much harder than the already intense difficulty level it seems to have, Mitt came to find out. However, by the fourth time they'd had to do that exact thing to avoid the police on patrol (Koujaku had their routes memorized at this point), things got a little more tuned between them. Now, getting between the bushes went from being a fumbling fiasco to a graceful glide. One could even say that this transiton from awkward to elegant was poetic.

Yes, one could say that. But the context that gave way to the metaphor would shatter any romantic illusion the poem gave off almost instantaneously.

Graceful as they might be as they slide between the bushes, they still needed to work out how to not be in such awkward close quarters to each other. Mitt noticed that Koujaku kept pushing himself as far into the bush as he could, despite the fact that he likely had around one hundred skinny twigs digging themselves into his flesh through his kimono.

Mitt had no issue with the close quarters, however. It was nice, if you ignored the whole uncomfortable air between them. Koujaku smelled almost like cherry blossoms, but with a hint of whiskey.

Was Koujaku an alcoholic? Or was that whiskey scent his romanticization of body odor combined with underground sewer passageway fumes? It was probably the latter, though if the younger man were a habitual drinker, it might mean he'd have alcohol back at his place. Some rum might be nice. Hell, any alcohol would be nice. He wouldn't usually advocate the consumption of alcohol or any mind altering substance, but this trip was already proving his morals were a lot shittier than he'd previously thought.

Koujaku continued trying to push himself into the bushes, unknowing of what was going on in the ex presidential candidate's head. He was netling himself into a nice, hollow half-sphere he'd fashioned with the arch of his back and willpower alone, however, when Mitt nudged him gently and motioned his head just slightly toward his left. More importantly, toward the way they shoved in through.

Footsteps.

Seemingly three sets of them.

One set heavy and two sets light and in sync.

No, one set heavy and one set light.

It was an officer and a dog.

Koujaku muttered a string of swears to himself, and Mitt could tell anxiety was washing over him. He couldn't deny the sickness he was suddenly starting to feel either, honestly. He was now a runaway criminal, and Koujaku was a criminal in the sense he broke him out. If they were caught like this - in the bushes, so close their noses would touch if they moved a few inches - it wouldn't be good in many ways.

Without thinking, Mitt unwedged himself from between the bushes. Koujaku tried to grab at the hem of his shirt as he started to almost slither across the ground, but soon followed suit. The footsteps were approaching, and Koujaku swore again. Mitt wondered what he heard, or what he sensed, or what he was noticing. His senses were much better than his own aging ones.

When Koujaku army crawled past him at an alarmingly quick rate, however, Mitt realized it was bad.

"Freeze!" came a gruff, loud voice from the other side of the bushes right as Mitt was making it toward a corner.

He froze. Not because he was ordered to, but out of pure terror. His heart was racing at rates that could very likely send him into cardiac arrest. His blood pressure raising, his everything worstening.

This was it, wasn't it?

It was when Mitt heard the officer begin to climb over the bushes, and when he heard the officer begin to recite his rights, that Koujaku ran back and pulled him to his feet.

"Run," Koujaku whispered, starting to pull him. Mitt remained still.

"To where?" he responded, eyes wide and skin paler than ever before. Koujaku pulled his hand out of Mitt's noticing how sweaty his palms were.

"I don't care. Just fucking _run_ ," he hissed, wiping his hand on his clothes as he booked it behind the corner Mitt had been trying to round when the officer caught them. It was in that moment Mitt's feet didn't feel cemented to the ground anymore and he booked it, running like a first grader on his first sugar high.

In the distance, he could hear the officer chasing after him, muttering codes in partial Japanese that seemed much different than police codes in America. It was weird, too, because this was the first time he'd heard anyone actually speak Japanese. In that moment, in that exact moment while he was on the run from the cops, he decided to ponder what the first language of the island was.

It was a better thought topic than what was happening around him, he figured.

He watched Koujaku turn to the left ahead, where the alleways divided. He figured he'd hang a right. The officer already knew they were in cahoots, but he only had the ability to chase after one now. And even though he ran the risks of losing Koujaku and destroying whatever plan Koujaku had for fixing the island, he figured it'd be worse if the police caught them.

He booked it to the right when the turn came up, and for a moment he thought he'd lost the officer.

Until he heard two additional heavy sets of feet running after him.

"Freeze! You're under arrest!" the original officer shouted. "If you don't stop running, things will be worse for you than they already are when we catch you. You have the right to remain silent..."

The right were exactly the same as in America.

He payed the officers no mind, however, and willed himself to run faster. His legs weren't burning, per se, but he was beginning to lose feeling in them. The training they put him through in prison sure as hell didn't benefit him on a high speed footrace from the law.

As he sped up, the officers all began shouting codes in Japanese into their walkie talkies. He tried to pick up even _more_ speed, but his legs felt as if they'd give out if he accelerated anymore. He was at his terminal velocity. At this rate, he could barely keep himself twenty feet ahead of the cops on his trail. He didn't know how much more backup he could handle. If each cop got two more backup, he'd be running from nine young, able-bodied officers.

Another split was up ahead. He didn't see or hear any sign of Koujaku, but it didn't matter. He hung a left, and hung an immediate right in an intersection mere feet from the turn he'd just taken. As soon as he took this right, he dove behind a dumpster. Cartoony move, he knew, but it was his only hope. He needed to breathe. He wasn't an olympic runner. He was a 67 year old politician with little training.

To his utter surprise and joy, they turned the left corner instead of the right. He could hear their swearing as they went down the wrong alleyway, sure that he was ahead of them in some way or another.

After a few minutes of waiting and catching his breath, he peeked around to make sure the coast was clear. He then stood and began casually walking down the alley he'd just turned into.

He didn't know where he was, or where he was going to end up, but he hoped to God that Koujaku would be at the end of this labyrinth of alleyways and garbage.


	9. Chapter 9

Either every alleyway in Midorijima looked really similar, or he was walking in circles, because he could've sworn that was the fifth time he'd seen that exact arrangement of garbage bags and trash around a dumpster.

The man groaned, pace slowing to a crawl as he came to the depressing conclusion that he was beyond lost. Not only could the entire police force not locate him, he couldn't even locate himself. He didn't know how many alleyways of alleyways there were in this city, but he decided that if it was possible to get this confused in them, there were a lot.

Wandering around in circles in this hell of an alley system seemed to be bearing no fruit, so he decided to rest for a while. Settling against a grimy wall near a pile of trash well overdue for pickup, he let out a relaxed groan. His joints were finally untensing themselves from the hours upon hours he'd been on the move. It was just hitting him how much pain he was in. His knees were screaming, his ankles begging for relief. He knew he wasn't fit for being on the run from the law, but he didn't know he was _this_ unfit for it.

There was no way to lean on that excuse, however. Being an elder wouldn't excuse him from doing the rest of his life in a high security prison in a country he wasn't even a citizen of for a crime he didn't know he committed.

He tilted his head toward the sky, which was half overshadowed by massive groups of powerlines overlapping and underlapping eachother, and closed his eyes. He didn't know what he was supposed to do from this point. He'd lost Koujaku, much to his dismay, and if he was as confused about the labyrinth of garbage as Mitt was then they were both entirely out of luck. Whatever plan Koujaku had for saving the island would be down the toilet faster than Mitt's diplomatic immunity, and both of them would rot behind bars.

He gave a sad laugh to no one but himself and the rats and bugs traversing the piles of trash. "Some vacation, huh? I come here to unwind and end up in a pile of trash, left to rot until someone finds me and puts me out of my misery. Oh, I wonder if Ann and the kids are worried."

His voice echoed off the walls of the alley and dissipated, leaving him alone with his silence again.

He decided not to talk again. It was pointless. No one was hearing him. No one would hear him again, probably.

God, is this what it felt like to be homeless? He took in the aroma of the alleyway to distract himself, and gagged upon focusing. He really hoped it wasn't this bad. This was going to be his life now, right? Homeless in a back alley, eating months old banana peels and rotten rat corpses.

This was just great.

Just as he felt himself drifting into a self loathing slumber, however, he heard footsteps resounding off of the walls of the alley.

Someone was coming.

"Romney! Romney! Jesus fuck where are you, you republican bastard?"

He could recognize that voice anywhere, regardless of how breathy it was.

"I'm over here," he called, his voice hoarse. He didn't know if it was the stench that was messing with him, or if there was something in the pond back in the prison, but his throat felt like sandpaper.

Maybe he was just thirsty.

Koujaku ran over to him and extended his hand. "Come on. You splitting off bought us no time. You fucking wasted more time than this situation was worth. Now we're a mile off a target we can't safely go to anymore and its almost sunrise. Get your ass up."

Mitt blinked and took his hand, gracous for the young man's extra strength added to pulling him up off the ground. "We can't safely get to your place anymore?"

"No! The cops know I'm with you now. It's fucking useless. The whole cop situation isn't your fault, and I'm not blaming you for that but... _God_ ," he threw his head back and ran his hand threw his hair frustratedly. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."

Mitt stood with his hands behind his back, glancing around as Koujaku began to pace. "Well, uh, what are we supposed to do?" Mitt asked hesitantly, afraid that Koujaku's answer would be in the form of another violent outburst.

To his pleasure, it wasn't.

"There's not a lot we _can_ do, Mitt," he sighed, stopping in his track to stare down at his feet. He looked genuinely distressed. Genuinely depressed.

Genuinely defeated.

He continued.

"We're criminals on the run now, you and I. The entire island is on lockdown, and the only chance for us to get the island back to how it should be is to defeat Toue. If we defeat him, then you can dismiss the governmental conspiracy and we can get an actual leader and--"

"You haven't actually explained to me what this governmental conspiracy even is," Mitt interjected, glancing at Koujaku. In response, he sighed without even glancing up.

"He calls it a governmental conspiracy so the public won't quesiton, but that's not what it is. Toue rules the island with the iron fist of a dictator. Everything is under his control, everything is under his watch. Even the unruly city we're in now. Platinum Jail, the place we just escaped from, is his utopia. Even though the island isn't in the state of a dictatorship, he has absolute control and can do whatever he wants," he responded.

"I don't quite understand..." Mitt sighed.

"You didn't let me finish," Koujaku began to continue. "He knows he's not ruling in a just way, since the people have no say in how they live and since the people have no privacy. So he avoids letting foreign politicians in. If foreign politicians come in and find out the state the island's in governmentally, he knows something will be done. A war will happen, a government overthrow will happen, _something_ will happen. And he can't have that. You're a prisoner so that you won't go back to America and tell everyone how screwed up the island is."

Mitt blinked. This wasn't exactly a lot to take in, but it was still a shock. "I'd only been on the island for a few weeks, though," he stated. "I didn't know how messed up the island was. All I knew is I was on vacation and I felt like a tourist. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary I...." he trailed off, at a loss for words.

"Yeah. Apparently that's what all the politicians say," he sighed. "It's true. There's no way to tell from a foreigner point of view. Toue's just a paranoid, power hungry dickhead."

"Quite obviously."

"Mhm. Anyway we should probably start figuring out what we're going to do. These alleyways can work for the next day or two in terms of shelter, but it won't be long before they have every officer in a one hundred mile radius scouring them for us. We need to start looking for a safe hiding spot around here until I can find a secure location for us to stay at without the danger of being caught by the police hovering over our heads," Koujaku said, voice a bit stronger now that his mind was back on track. He tilted his head back up and began to glance around once more.

"Won't it be uncomfortable staying around here, though?" Mitt hesitated. Koujaku shot him a look.

"It'll be a hell of a lot better than staying in that brainwashing facility," he retorted, before turning on his heel and walking past the man, directly in a straight path down the labyrinth.

All Mitt could do now was follow without question and hope that they both got out of this seemingly much more complicted situation safely.

And alive.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a few days later. Enough days later that circumstances lead to Mitt learning that It was a very unpleasant feeling to be startled awake in a dumpster. Of course, it also wasn't a feeling Mitt thought he'd ever experience. But here he was, being startled awake by a man a third his age, telling him that they had to start running right then and there or they were dead meat.

He wasn't awake enough to process this, but his body seemed to understand enough that by the time he was aware, he was both running down an alleyway barefoot and somewhat dodging tranquelizer darts as they were semi-rhythmically shot at him.

As he came to his bearings, he turned to face the man he was running next to, shouting a quick "What's happening?" over the thunderous sound of running echoing against the abandoned back-alley walls and buildings. His inquiry was met with an angry glare from Koujaku, and an even angrier scream as he exerted himself to run faster. Mitt was unsure if he was trying to get away from him or from the guards, but he hopefully assumed it was the latter. In turn, he took his speeding up as a warning gesture and did the same, forcing himself to run faster than a man his age should have to.

This chase went on for a while, until the police that had somehow found them had kind of both lost their bearings and their victims. Koujaku and Mitt continued on together, until they were closer to the city than to the outskirts of the alleyway system they were in. That's when Koujaku pulled Mitt off of their patterned trail and into a (significantly cleaner) side alley.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Koujaku hissed, slamming Mitt against a grimy brick wall. Mitt yelped as his back made contact, looking at Koujaku dead in the eyes. It was then he noticed that there was little to no height difference between them, which would make it all the easier to just lean in and...

Mitt, no! He's yelling at you! Now is not the time for any gay fantasies!

"Wh... What?" Mitt responded, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible - which, in retrospect, might've been a bad feeling to try to take on in th given situation. But, it worked. Koujaku relaxed his grip on Mitt's shirt, backing up just a bit, giving the politician tim to give a relieved sigh before Koujaku tightened his grip once again, throwing him to the ground.

"You're making everything so goddamn hard!" Koujaku responded, putting his hands on his hips as he stared down at Mitt's vaugely shaking form. "Your inability to wake up back there almost got us arrested again! I don't think I need to re-explain why that would be bad, do I?"

"I don't know," Mitt responded, turning his head to glance up at Koujaku, a shit-eating grin spreading across his chapped lips. "I think your throwing me around might've made me lose the brain cells that held that information."

Koujaku threw his arms in the air, growling and turning away in frustration. "I can't do this. I can't." He proceeded to thread his fingers through his hair, glancing around at the walls of the alley as he did so. "Fuck... I don't even know where we are anymore."

"You used to know?" the politician asked meekly, sitting up now, but not quite standing just yet. "How could you possibly..."

"The alleyways are specific to various regions of the Old Resident District. You used to be in the East district," Koujaku began. "We were in the South district when the police found us, I believe. Some alleyways are cleaner depending on where you are..."

"So, shouldn't we venture closer to the city's limits in terms of alleyways?" Mitt offered. Koujaku turned and gave Mitt a look of confused disgust.

"Who the hell says 'ventured' in casual speech?" was his only response. Mitt shrugged, a blush creeping onto his face. Koujaku payed him no mind as he continued. "That's not a bad idea actually, though. I mean... the police are probably gonna be split up several blocks behind us... so why not?"

Koujaku stepped forward, offering his hand to the American. "Good job, Romney. You actually came up with a good idea. For once."

Mitt nodded and accepted the (somewhat) compliment, before glancing up at the sky. Grey clouds were beginning to gather, and as soon as Mitt glanced up, a raindrop hit him on the bridge of his nose.

"Um... Koujaku? I think we need to find better shelter than a garbage receptical tonight," Mitt commented. Koujaku looked up at the sky as well, grumbling to himself as a few drops landed on his face. Without another word, he grabbed Mitt by the wrist and started running through the alleyways again.

Mitt wordlessly stumbled after him - it's not like he had a choice, right?

And as they ran, the rain began to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually write notes on this, but I'd like to apologize for the 6 month hiatus! I don't mean to not update, but I just had severe writers block! The chapter might be the shortest in the fic (next to chapter 4), but I promise the sequential chapters will be much better!
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read Cutting it Close!


	11. Chapter 11

By the time they made it to the back door of the two-star hotel, they were soaking wet. It's a good thing, too, because the hair sticking to their face and the clothes sticking to their bodies were more distracting than their actual faces that would be guaranteed to get them caught and re-arrested. Plus... Koujaku had cut some deals with the hotel manager incase he were ever in a legal stint.

As if it were practiced, Koujaku gave a gentle rap at the back door. Within a minute, a surprisingly gentle looking man opened the door just a smidge. After giving a quick 'tsk' and a shake of the head, he opened the door wider, to allow Koujaku and his friend to enter. The man let go of the door as soon as Mitt made it through, and it closed with a heavy, dull bang.

"So, this is the kind of political trouble you're in, eh Jack?" the man hummed, moving to sit in a chair placed near the back door.

"It appears that way, Kou" Koujaku responded, shrugging his wet kimono off his shoulders to reveal a few tattoos and a lot of probably unnecessary bandages - especially covering his back. Mitt was taken aback by the many symbols on his arms and, when he peeked around Koujaku's figure, his chest. He wasn't complaining, though.

"Anything I can do for you two?" the man - now known as Kou - inquired, leaning back in his chair. Mitt went to speak, but Koujaku reflexively put his hand over his mouth.

"We'd like a room to use whenever we need, and a change of clothes, thanks," he responded. "I'll pay you back later. I don't exactly have any cash on me right now, and I doubt Mitt over here does, either."

"You'd better pay me back pretty well," Kou half-teased, standing and walking over to a dusty desk, toying with the handle of one of the drawers. "I'm harboring an illegal politician and the man who's on the run with him. Do you know how much trouble I could get in?" With that, he opened the drawer and pulled a key out, throwing it at Koujaku. Koujaku caught it mid-air, glancing down at it as Kou spoke up once again. "Third floor, room 205. I reserve that to all Benishigure members who could be in any legal trouble, and to others when things have been in the clear for a while... No one's been in there for a while, so it might be a little dusty."

"Not like dust matters right about now," Koujaku commented, closing his fist around the key and glancing up at Kou. "Where can we find the clothes?"

"Don't worry about that, Jack," he responded, grinning and giving him a thumbs-up. "I'll send some up to you before too long."

"Thanks, Kou. It means a lot," Koujaku nodded, glancing around for an inconspicuous exit to the lobby. Kou chuckled, opening a door near the desk he was just at. A mop fell out, handle-first, as if to conveniently scream _this is a janitor's closet_.

"It connects to the lobby near the stairs. There should also be a few janitor's jumpsuits in there, in case you want to maybe disguise yourselves on your way up," Kou offered. "It's not like we're incredibly busy here, but it might be a good idea just in case, you know?"

"Thanks again," Koujaku nodded, rushing over to the open door with Mitt's wrist in his hand once again. Kou gave a nod, almost as if to say 'don't mention it', as he flipped a light switch on in the closet before shutting and locking the door.

After they were in the closet, Koujaku let go of Mitt's wrist and began to shuffle forward through the mess of janitorial supplies. Mitt, however, stayed back until he was told to move forward. He cleared his throat after a moment, glancing around the closet at the various supplies as he spoke.

"Um... Who was that?"

"Oh, Kou?" Koujaku responded, almost too casually. "He's part of my Rib team."

"Rib?" Mitt responded, shifting on his feet, a bit uncomfortable. Weren't Rib teams gangs?

_Had he gotten tied up with a gang?_

"Yeah. It's a game thing, I don't really feel like explaining right now," he responded. After a moment, he gave a gentle aha! before throwing a worn, dark blue pair of long-sleeve cover-alls to Mitt. "Do you think those'll fit?"

"They'll have to," Mitt muttered, moving to put them on right then and there. Over his clothes. Koujaku shook his head and tsk'ed, much like Kou had mere minutes ago. _Was this a gang thing, too?_ he absently wondered, before Koujaku's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Ah-ah, no. You cant have your wet clothes on underneath your disguise. It'll seep through. No one will believe a janitor went out in the rain long enough to get sopping wet," Koujaku scolded, already moving to take off his excess clothing, revealing his chiseled form to only the eyes of Mitt. It took everything in Mitt not to start staring and drooling right on the spot. I mean, if he was being honest, Koujaku was a pretty nice piece of meat.

_Did he really just think that?_

As he stopped zoning into his thoughts, it became horribly obvious to him that he'd been staring directly at Koujaku's chest - and Koujaku had noticed. In fact, he was really only completely brought back to his bearings when the man cleared his throat and moved to meet Mitt's eyes. "My eyes are up here," he called, motioning his hands in an upward movement from his midsection to his face. A Painfully red blush formed on Mitt's cheeks as he processd what Koujaku said.

"R-Right, sorry," he stuttered, shifting his eyes awkwardly away as he began to peel the soaked shirt off of his back. "I didn't mean to-"

"Uh-huh," Koujaku interrupted, his tone making it _painfully_ obvious he was aware of Mitt's little crush on him. " _That's_ why I've caught you staring at me so many times, or caught you blushing at what I say, or caught some sort of response from you that practically screams 'I'm interested'. Because you didn't mean to."

"N-No, really," Mitt stammered, his words escaping him before he could even begin to thread them together. "I..."

He finished peeling his shirt off, moving to working on the buttons of his pants next.

"I have a wife and kids back in America, I couldn't possibly have a thing for you," Mitt muttered, unzipping his fly.  
  
"That's why you're conveniently not asking me why I'm still in my underwear, then? Because you have a wife?"

"I-I... I didn't notice, honest."

"Mitt, you're horrible at being subtle. You're a fucking _republican_ , after all."

"Hey, what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

It was then there was a knock heard on the janitor closet door that Kou had ushered the two through, followed by a quick, blunt, "If you two are gonna bang, can it at least wait until you're in your room with more than cheap Fast Mart bags as condoms and Mr Clean as lube?" from one certain Kou.

Mitt quickly turned into a humanized tomato in terms of color, but Koujaku took the comment much more in stride. "How would you have felt if I interrupted you like that all those times, Kou?" he called, a smirk on his lips and in his voice. There was a moment of silence before Kou cleared his throat.

"Fair enough. Use protection," he called, before his footsteps could faintly be heard echoing away from the door. With that, Koujaku snickered and returned his focus to the ever-blushing politician in front of him.

"Well. We might as well get dressed and head up to the room. Who knows what kind of crazy bullshit we're gonna get into as things go on," Koujaku hummed, giving a quick, cheesy two guns and a wink to Mitt before jumping into his jumper - colored a burnt orange to contrast Mitt's. He made sure to shove the key into one of the pockets as soon as he was done zipping the jumper up, grinning over at Mitt once he was finished.

Mitt had barely gotten his pants off during this whole fiasco, and he was working on getting his socks off as Koujaku executed the cheesy gun fingers. His barely-fading blush returned with the intensity of at least five suns as he slid his second and final Fruit Of The Loom sock off, throwing it into a dusty corner of the janitors closet. _Was this really happening?_ he thought, taking to absently wondering once again as he began to slide into his jumper that fit just a bit tighter than he would've liked. He continued to muse over the situation at hand... until Koujaku interrupted his thoughts once more.

"By the way, your chest hair makes you a total bear," he hummed, grabbing a mop and bucket and shoving a push broom at Mitt. "I like it."

Mitt didn't verbally respond - the blush on his face was speaking more for him than he could for himself at this point. Rather, he meekly took the broom by the handle and followed as Koujaku opened the door of the janitors closet that lead into the hallways and exited. The bright light caught him by surprise, but the lack of any people around is what caught him the most.

That entire fiasco happened for nothing. (Not that Mitt was complaining, though.)

He followed Koujaku across the (admittedly small) hotel lobby, to the flight of stairs set off to the side directly next to the elevator. He took to tossing the push broom to the side of the stairwell that harbored the emergency exit as Koujaku shoved his bucket and mop in a similar direction, and as soon as their accidentally choriographed number there was done, they took to ascending the steps.

It was time for them to head up to room 205 to discuss their plans for getting Aoba back and saving Mitt's reputation... along with the island.

 _And maybe a little extra,_ Mitt hoped to himself, a grin toying his features as they reached the stairwell door leading into the third floor.


	12. Chapter 12

The door closed with a soft click as Koujaku tugged it, double checking that he locked it before wandering into the unkempt room. Mitt looked around as he wandered further into the room than Koujaku had yet dared, eyes darting around and expression the one of disgusted awe at just how horrible shape his current surroundings were. "Your friend expects us to stay here...?"

"Would you rather a shitty hotel room or being brainwashed by Toue?" Koujaku mumbled, hurrying his way passed Mitt and making his way toward the partially opened blinds. He quickly shut them, closing the dusty curtains to further block out any outside view. "Keep your voice down, by the way. Just because Kou keeps this room for anyone in..." he coughed out the words "legal trouble" before his voice trailed off, as if to imply his point.

Mitt didn't quite get it, but he figured whatever the point was, it had to be important enough to warrant the added level of secrecy.

"So uh..." Mitt mumbled, keeping his voice as low as possible. "We're here to plan, right?"

"Yeah, but we might also want to rest a bit. We might have to sleep in shifts..." he responded, voice nothing more than a hushed whisper. He looked like he was contemplating something for a second, but continued speaking regardless "Sleeping in the alley systems wasn't the most comfortable thing."

 _Tell me about it_ , Mitt thought, slowly making his way toward the bed that he already could tell would be nothing short of dirty. He slowly lowered himself onto it, sitting as still as he could in fear that the mattress would creak. He took a moment to fully let his surroundings sink in, memorizing the room that had obviously not been serviced in a long time.

All that was really in the room (besides for the old bed he currently sat on) was a shoddy nightstand with a lamp whos lampshade was coated in plastic and a dresser across from the bed. There was a square of wallpaper that wasn't quite as dirty and yellowed from nicotine and other such smoke-emitting drugs as the rest of the wall, which only lead Mitt to conclude that something had been there before, but was removed for... some reason.

Part of him didn't want to know, but most of him assumed it was either a mirror that shattered due to unfortunate happenings or a painting that got stolen.

Mitt looked over at Koujaku, who seemed to be pacing on the side of the bed closest to the door. Occasionally, the floor would groan under his weight, and Mitt could only hope no surrounding guests would lodge a noise complaint. The last thing he needed was attention being brought to them, and despite Koujaku's friend having ties with the manager, it still seemed unsafe. Still, Mitt bit his tongue, avoiding irritating Koujaku. He'd seen him blow up before, and noise was apparently the last thing they needed.

Ironically, though, mere moments later there came a sharp rap at the door of the room. Mitt nearly jumped out of his skin, and his skeleton was practically preparing to immediately escape as a rhythmic rap came once more. The politician nearly wanted to grab Koujaku by the ankles and hold him back as he watched him walk toward the door, and he practically sat frozen on the cheap matress (that he was coming to realize was also wrapped in plastic underneath the sheets) as he waited for his companion to re-emerge from the small hallway that the door was sequestered in.

It took only moments for the man to return with a pile of clothes, shoddily folded.

"Kou ran these up to us to change into," he smiled. His expression clearly showed concern, but only for a moment. He quickly took a shirt and a pair of pants off of the pile before scuttling off to the bathroom also sequestered in the hallway, leaving the other outfit on the floor for Mitt to change into.

He stood once he heard the bathroom door shut and lock, and began to undress. Quickly, he stepped out of the janitors outfit he had ungracefully put on mere minutes prior and pulled on the plain grey shirt and cheap sweatpants that had been supplied to him. He caught a distorted glimpse of himself in the plastic of the lampshade, immediately looking away as to avoid any idea of what he currently looked like.

He couldn't be anything short of a wreck.

Koujaku re-emerged from the bathroom after a little while, his hair no longer in a ponytail and actually brushed, falling over his shoulders that were now adorned in a nice red shirt. He gave a stretch and a yawn, reaching his arms into the air and exaggeratedly finishing off the display of exhaustion before lumbering over to the bed.

"W-Wait, what are you doing?" Mitt blinked, scrambling to full attention as he listened to the old springs in the matress groan as Koujaku lied on the bed.

"Going to sleep? What's it look like?"

"B-But we didn't discuss what shifts we would take, or for how long, or what I'm going to use to protect myself, or-"

"Can you calm down? Sleeping in shifts was a suggestion," he mumbled, curling up on his side, not even bothering with the sheets that were no doubtedly hiding filthy, stained bedding underneath them. "You can sleep if you want, or you can guard if you want. I doubt Kou would let us get captured."

There was silence. Then, before Mitt could get his thoughts fully together to formulate a response, Koujaku spoke up again.

"Besides, if we _were_ sleeping in shifts, I _am_ the one who got us into safety. The police are outside, looking for us as we speak. I wouldn't bitch when you're safer than you would have been had I not had connections."

"Fair enough," Mitt squeaked out, looking around awkwardly. He wanted to lie down, but part of him was on high alert. He didn't think he could sleep if he tried. There was just something so... tense about this hotel room. Like something could go wrong at any minute.

As time passed, Mitt decided to remain awake, sitting on the edge of the bed. He could hear Koujaku has he drifted off to sleep, soft breaths turning to gentle snores. It was almost cute, and it was the one thing keep him entirely grounded as he listened to every creak, bump, groan, and voice he heard in the surrounding hotel rooms. Rationally, every noise was coming from other tennants, or from employees servicing rooms that weren't used to harbor criminals. But, in Mitt's mind, it was the police force, searching every room, tearing each room apart to find him and Koujaku.

In his hand, he gripped a piece of glass he'd found under the shoddy old dresser. Not only did it confirm his suspicions about the mirror, but it gave him a sense of reason for staying awake. If something were to happen, he'd at least be able to know he went down with a vague fight. He knew he couldn't do anything with his fists, but if he had something sharp, he might be able to at least stun someone if they were to attack.

He knew it'd probably be akin to bringing a knife to a gun fight, especially with him probably being much more than your run of the mill criminal in the light of Midorijima's government, but it gave him comfort.

He remained in the vague glow of that comfort, watching the hallway that housed the exit to the hotel room intently and listening to Koujaku's snores. He had determined in his mind he would guard as long as Koujaku had to sleep.

Koujaku _was_ the brains of this operation.

And he was right.

 _He_ was the one who got them to safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i havent updated this in so long, but i finally had motivation so... ;v; here nyall go


End file.
